


Get Well Soon, Mate

by brucebannerisms



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucebannerisms/pseuds/brucebannerisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ship I never knew I wanted. A one shot inspired by Jack's recent injury troubles.</p><p>Kieran pays his old friend a visit after his surgery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Well Soon, Mate

The surgery was a success insofar as confident young doctors with complicated charts and clipboards were trying to assure him not for the first time that at the end of the rehab period Jack should, hypothetically, have a strong working ankle that won't cause him any more problems.

What it feels like though is a complete disaster, like Jack has been torn apart, lost out to sea and maybe survival is not impossible but it's going to be one hell of a swim.

Jack is the wreckage, his mind flotsam and he breathes seawater in his lungs.

But in front of the team he's all warm smiles and a torch of hope. Future Captain's face on, old boy.

Each team member offered something different to him by way of condolences.

Alexis had no words, only a few gestures and pained smiles. Jack got the gist.

Lukas had perhaps too many. _Buck up, small boy. Be strong like me._

Jack wasn't strong like him, Jack wasn't anything like him, and most of the time he resented that. Resented the German his enduring optimism, the strength and sureness of self that Jack can manage to put on most of the time. The aplomb that Jack knows Poldi wears even when he thinks others aren't looking. An impermeable strength of character that on Jack will slide into diffidence at the slightest jab.

But today, in front the boys, Jack was strong. He had thousands of self-assured words built up in his head to offer up to anyone who might doubt him. Nobody can doubt Jack but himself.

Cazorla and Per offered support, quiet affection for the young teammate. A pat on the shoulder that was empathy at a touch.

Danny was a rock. A lifeboat in a room swaying violently with wave after wave of bitter regret. He stood next to Jack's bed, rubbing soothing circles into his shoulders, laughing loud enough for both of them at Lukas and Olivier's jokes.

Aaron brought a knowing smile and the tired figurative storm cloud that followed him around these days. Too much British rain. Jack refused to try to relate to that, couldn't afford it. Jack's storm was more violent and destructive than Aaron's quiet brooding.

And then there was Alex, who brought unwavering conviction that Jack would emerge stronger than before. The same certitude that he gifted to Theo every single day. The words that brought Theo the strength to train harder and to actually succeed in coming out the other side of dire straits faster than before. The kindness, the unabashed confidence he reserved for everyone but himself that was the cornerstone of friendship with Alex. 

So much so that even Jack couldn't find it within himself to resent the Ox even a little for this true demonstration of captaincy.

Jack appreciated every effort made by his squad to make him feel missed, valued, indispensable even. Compartmentalized the moments for later when his mind breaks, all of the bad thoughts pouring through the seams, becoming harder and harder to weather. For every grim half-truth niggling at his mind, the face of a friend who believes the sum of Jack is greater than all of the bad things people say about him.

Wenger himself came by to check on him and even some of the other England lads had also promised to come by as soon as they could.

Even so, it was Kieran's comfort he longed for.

The visiting time started at 4pm and Kieran shows up long after 5, when the rest of the team is saying their final good byes. Lukas is laughing loudly and planning some ridiculous edit of a selfie he just took of him and Jack while Mesut is promising with a look over his shoulder to Jack that he will dispose of the evidence. Kieran slips quietly through the door and tries not to look out of place. Of course, he's never out of place at Arsenal but he's trying to seem as though he'd been there for ages and didn't plan to linger long, had somewhere else to be. He extends out of focus smiles to the rest of the team and leaves his coat on like he's about to follow them out. Emi is the last to depart, a crooked smile and a half bow and Kieran is alone at the foot of Jack's bed.

"I would have chucked the lot of them out an hour ago," Kieran says by way of greeting, as he unwinds his scarf and Jack readjusts his position on the bed. He pulls a blanket over the cast he had been proudly displaying only moments before. The temperature of the room drops imperceptibly by degrees as Jack let's his veneer slip away by virtue of the comfort of his old friend.

"Naw," Jack tells him. "Seeing them all here helps keep me strong. I feel really great about all of it and I know that everyone supports me."

Kieran feigns looking around the room as he unbuttons his peacoat. 

"Everyone has left, Jack. It's just me." He says not unkindly.

"I know that, obviously." Jack snaps, but without any bite to his tone. Kieran finishes hanging his coat and scarf neatly by the door and pulls up a chair next to Jack's bed.

"What's on the telly?" Kieran asks, fishing for the remote from between the sheets on Jack's hospital bed.

"Shite." Jack replies. Kieran leaves his hand resting on the side of the bed, and after a moment Jack rests his own hand on top of it. He turns it over so Kieran's palm is facing up and threads their fingers together. Kieran gives Jack's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"You'll get through this." Kieran says assuredly, finally looking into Jack's face. Drinking in every detail of it. A bit more stubble than the usual, and despite forgoing a shave he still took the time to style his hair. His skin drawn and pale, a frown furrowing his forehead as he stares fixedly at the ceiling. His cheeks dimple a bit with the effort of keeping a straight face.

"That's not the point though, is it?" He says through clenched teeth, a child's whine for a childish young man. Kieran rests his chin on his other hand and watches Jack, concern darkening his eyes. "I'm sure you've seen the papers. 119 weeks in 5 years. That kind of record doesn't get you any sort of captaincy."

"If you think your injury record is your biggest obstacle to becoming Captain, boy have I got news for you." Kieran jokes. He reaches over as if considering taking Jack's face in his hand, but thinks better of it and leans back casually in his chair.

"Fuck off, Gibbo." Jack replies, with more ire than Kieran expected so soon. So this is what's really bothering him.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Kieran says quietly, a warning in his tone. He walks over to his coat while Jack focuses on controlling his breathing and his temper. On days like this Kieran knows that the smallest of things will set him off, but he needs the practice anyway. "You're lucky I wouldn't feel right punishing your son for your indiscretions." Kieran jokes, returning to the bed and placing something over the blanket. "This is why I was late, I got this. For Archie. I knew he wanted it." It was a small model of a red double decker London bus. The exact replica of the one Archie had been crying over last week when he saw Louis Podolski playing with it. "He's probably forgotten about it already, but Lukas told me where he got it and it was on the way, but the queue was so long..."

"He hasn't forgotten, he drew it on his Christmas list to Santa." 

"Good. Scratch that off the list then." Kieran smiles. Jack runs the wheels of the small bus across his forearm before setting it tenderly on the bedside table. "So, uh--" Kieran begins, clears his throat nervously. "Has Wojciech been to see you?"

"You know he hasn't."

This time it's Kieran's brow furrowed in frustration. "I should have words with him. It's not right for him to blame you. For any of it."

"Don't bother, it's no one's fault. He'll realize that on his own." Jack says, and waves a hand lazily to dismiss the rest of that conversation. Kieran acknowledges in silence that now is not the time to worry about Wojciech Szczesny.

"Right," he says finally. Unsure of where to start, of where to find the right words. Of how to remind Jack that he's everything Kieran knows him to be. That he's every bit on his way to being the Captain he constantly tells himself he isn't. Kieran knows to tread carefully around Jack, say just the right amount. Too little sounds cagey to Jack's ears, too much leaves Jack wondering who he's trying to convince.

Eventually he opts not to broach the subject at all. Keep it light.

"How long you planning to spend feeling sorry for yourself in here, then?" Kieran asks, a half smile crossing his face as he gestures to the hospital room and a curious lack of personal effects on Jack's part.

"Oi," Jack says, much lighter than the first time he had flared up. "You know me, as soon as I get the green light I'm gone. Mesut was saying something about the therapists allowing him to train ahead of schedule. Couldn't really understand what he was getting at, to tell the truth, but it sounds like they can be swayed. Who knows, maybe I can pull off a miracle recovery. Everyone else around here seems to be. Are you here to make me feel better or worse, miracle man?" Jack asks, jokingly pushing his fist across Kieran's cheek in a glancing blow. A show of affection from Jack Wilshere.

"Whatever you need, oh Captain my Captain." Kieran says, puffing out his chest and giving Jack a sarcastic salute.

"Oh baby, I love it when you talk dirty." Jack says, a smile touching his eyes for the first time since Kieran arrived. "Since you're offering...I can think of one way you can make me feel better." His grin turns a bit shifty as he takes Kieran's hand and slides it under the blanket to his crotch. Kieran drags his chair closer to the bed and glances around nervously.

"You sure there aren't cameras in here?" He says, half jokingly. His nervous affect is betrayed by the excitement softening his gaze and spreading in a slight glow across his cheeks. His hand finds Jack and strokes him through his pants, feeling heat spreading through his own body as Jack hardens in his hand.

"I hope there are, I'd make copies." Jack quips. Kieran knows Jack must have known they were unsupervised before he acted, he would never take this kind of risk without knowing for sure. Outside of the solitude of each other, you'd be hard put to even define their friendship, always careful to keep an appropriate distance. Not careful enough though recently, considering Wojciech, after picking up on the signs for weeks, finally walked in on them as guilty as can be. Jack is convinced that they'll be forgiven. Kieran, though sure Woj won't be able to hold a grudge against Jack, is not so sure of himself. They were hardly on the greatest terms before he was caught with his boyfriend.

When Jack shifts to pull down his pants, Kieran considers the best position to blow his teammate. He places a knee uncertainly on the edge of the bed and Jack nods, a signal that his leg is not too tender to handle the weight. More sure of himself now, Kieran positions himself with Jack's legs between his thighs. Jack rolls the blanket into a ball and places it next to his pillow, stroking himself as Kieran is shifting his weight so that he's not applying any pressure to the cast just behind him. When Jack places strong hands on both of Kieran's thighs to steady him, Kieran longs for an intimacy beyond the sloppy secret screws that have defined these past few months. Still, this is fun too.

Before Kieran bends over to tend to Jack's swollen cock, kneading hands find the hardness in Kieran's jeans and massage lightly. Kieran would have liked to have kissed Jack in that moment, but knows better than to ruin the mood, and instead kisses the head of his dick. He licks a wet stripe along the sensitive underside that makes Jack shiver involuntarily. This won't take long. 

Without warning he takes Jack into his mouth and Jack gasps, his hand grabbing a fistful of sheets, his strong hips twitching with the movement. Using one hand to stroke along with the movements of his mouth, Kieran lets his other hand trail under Jack's shirt. He runs his hands over the sharp planes of Jack's stomach, his fingers mapping every inch of supple skin and hard, tensed muscle underneath. Jack has both hands on either side of Kieran's head though he isn't guiding him yet. When Kieran lets a few fingers stray to fondle his balls on each stroke though Jack's grip tightens and Kieran picks up pace a little bit. He lets his tongue trace swirls around the soft spot on the underside of the head and thinks of his own aching dick, mercilessly untouched. He knows it would be too much to risk removing his own clothes for a shag and wonders when the next opportunity will be.

When he lets Jack's dick touch the back of his throat the first time, he doesn't gag but it still makes Jack moan, pushing his head further too late as Kieran is already pulling out slightly. Jack's other hand fumbles with the collar of Kieran's shirt as he tries to find skin to pull. The second time Kieran slowly takes Jack all the way into his mouth he does gag and feels Jack's hips thrust automatically into the sensation. He's holding Kieran's head down as Kieran is pulling out a little. Jack's hand finds Kieran's nipple and rubs it hard between thumb and index finger. He takes Jack all the way in again, deeper than he thought he could, gagging against the pressure but pressing his tongue against him, wanting to taste him, feel him shudder at his touch. He uses one hand to hold Jack's hips down and Jack is panting, losing all rhythm of his hand on Kieran's head, still rubbing a hand across his chest, pulling at his shirt uselessly. Kieran idly wishes he could feel strong arms around his own hips as he twists his wrist just the way he knows Jack likes, causing him to cry out.

"Fuck, Kier." He grunts, and Kieran feels Jack against the back of his throat, once, twice, three times in quick succession as he comes, hard enough that some of it drips over Kieran's chin, over his fingers around Jack's shaft. The word, the tender nickname were enough to make Kieran want him so bad but feel release at the same time as Jack's tense body slowly relaxes beneath him. What he wouldn't give for a kiss but instead settles for running his tongue along his finger, sucking up Jack's spilled seed. Jack watches with heavy lidded eyes, still a hint of lust in them but mostly just contentment. Kieran tries not to let himself look for anything else.

Jack leaves his hand to linger on Kieran's cheek, running a thumb delicately along his cheekbone and Kieran freezes, caught in the strength of Jack's gaze. Sometimes he feels like Jack can say enough in just actions and looks, but other times he sulks for days, more and more disappointed with himself for wishing for so much more than they could ever have with each other. More than either of them would ever be prepared to give.

"Should I do you?" Jack asks, making a lewd gesture with his hand since he wouldn't be able to do much else. Kieran considers for a moment but then decides he'd rather leave it on this uneven exchange. A hard decision to make when Jack's strong arms are running up and down your thighs, muscles flexing in his forearm, chasing up his arm and disappearing under a tight fitting shirt. An invitation to trace the path and explore the glory that is Jack Wilshere's body. Grinning like he wants to take you in his hand and stroke moans and groans out of you. Maybe even leave love bites across your collarbone, nipping at your earlobe and making you beg for relief. Instead Kieran carefully lowers himself off the bed and tries not to think about how obscene Jack would look with red swollen lips and his come decorating his cheek.

"Naw, you're alright mate. You need your rest." Kieran winks at him. Jack grins crookedly as he cleans himself off and fixes his pants, leaning back with both arms behind his head.

"As you wish."

"As much as I hate to dine and dash..." Kieran begins, causing Jack to laugh loudly, turning into a coughing fit as he pats his hand along the sheets looking for the television remote.

"Oh come on, stay a while, I'm sure we can find something on this sorry excuse for a cable TV. The great interior design challenge! Don't you love that?"

"Oh shut up!" Kieran says, swiping the remote out of Jack's hand. "16 and Pregnant, that's your bag isn't it?" Kieran remarks, making a jab of his own.

"I'm more of a Jeremy Kyle guy, me." Jack retorts, unperturbed. He yanks the remote back and settles on Friends reruns. "We had fun in America, didn't we?" He says, settling back into the bed again, offering the blanket to Kieran who is always cold. 

"You could say that." Kieran replies, accepting the blanket and turning the chair to get a view of the TV. With the blanket providing some privacy Jack takes Kieran's hand in his own again, a gesture of affection Kieran doesn't get every day. He rests one elbow on the bed and tells himself that moments like this will always be enough.

"You were right." Jack says quietly, letting his thumb run across the soft flesh above Kieran's thumb.

"About what?"

"Getting through this. I feel better already." And maybe he didn't say it, but Kieran takes comfort in just the suggestion that he meant enough to Jack to actually alter his mood.

Back to back episodes later and the nurse is telling Kieran he has to go. They had both been dozing slightly, and sprang apart guiltily when they heard the door. As Kieran wraps his coat and scarf over his arms he turns to say good bye.

"It'll be no time at all, yeah?" He tells Jack, who he can see is already sinking back into the tempest of his worried mind. "I'm sure we'll all be back to see you before you know we're gone but do me a favour in the meantime." 

"What's that?"

"Get well soon, mate."


End file.
